


The Day That The Dance Is Over

by araliya



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 02:03:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13020915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/araliya/pseuds/araliya
Summary: Chris hears Darren's song.





	The Day That The Dance Is Over

**Author's Note:**

> I cried the first time I listened to this, so expect lots of feels.
> 
> *Lyrics from the song The Day That The Dance is Over by Darren Criss

Listen to this beautiful masterpiece right [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g1eqq-W-bI0). 

 

_(And while there’s something to talk about,_

_and while there’s something to say)_

 

The first time Chris hears the song, Darren’s the one who plays it for him. He pulls Chris down onto the piano stool next to him, and sings, melody high and clear and melancholy. Chris watches Darren’s fingers tremble as he presses down on the keys, and he would still them with his own, if those fingers weren’t making the most beautiful sound Chris has ever heard in his life.

 

He cries, of course. He doesn’t do it often, but by the time Darren’s reached the bridge, and there are no words, just melody, the tears are slowly streaming down Chris’ face. He does it quietly, quietly enough that Darren doesn’t notice until his fingers slip on the keys where Chris’ tears have landed.

 

And then those beautiful, talented hands are cradling his face, and Darren’s whispering, _I mean every word, darling, please know I won’t let go._ Chris nods, unable to speak, only to rest his head on Darren’s shoulder as he plays the accompaniment by itself over and over, filling the silence of their drawing room.

 

_(They can turn all the lights out,_

_leave us standing in the dark,_

_but I’m not going anywhere, love)_

 

Chris gets to see the first half of the recording. He gets to see Darren break the song into tiny little pieces and then put it back together again, usually with Chuck by his side. He gets to see Darren’s face light up when he hears how it sounds when the band learns the arrangement. He gets to see Darren come home from the studio, bouncing on the balls of his feet and telling him, _Chris you’re going to love it, it’s going to be so damn good._

 

Chris is also there when the sailing isn’t so smooth. When Darren’s eyes grow tired and weary behind his glasses from peering at sheet music and lyrics too long, when he scraps an arrangement and rewrites it over and over and over again.

 

He’s not allowed to see the last half of the process, however. According to Darren, this is when the piece starts to come together, when all the vocals and instrumentals are combined and everything really starts to flow. _I want you to hear the finished product_ , he says. _Not the mish mash in between._

 

Chris laughs and accepts it, knowing that it’ll be a while before he does hear this end product. Darren’s a perfectionist, and he never stops tweaking and making changes, trying to create something that’s the best possible embodiment of what it’s supposed to be.

 

_(Many times you have carried me higher up than I could reach,_

_but this time you’re on my shoulders.)_

 

It’s many months later when Darren calls Chris into the living room, laptop and speakers in hand. They sit on the couch together, laptop placed precariously on top of their twined legs. They each clutch a speaker. Chris has to laugh at the setup of it all, and Darren shushes him, eyes shining with excitement.

 

When the song starts, Chris looks to Darren. Their free hands automatically find each other and they share a glance before Chris squeezes his eyes shut, letting the song wash over him. This time, it sounds different. When Darren had played it for him first, nearly an entire year ago, it had sounded like a true ballad, almost mournful and sentimental in the emotions it wrought out.

 

This, however, sounds like a _celebration_.

 

It sounds cheerful, and reassuring and buoyant. Darren’s clear tenor is a constant throughout the song, whether it’s being backed up by simple piano chords, strings, or an entire choir. It sounds like what the lyrics are trying to tell him.

 

Hope.

 

By the time it’s over, Chris eyes are wet with tears once more. He doesn’t need to look over to Darren to know that he’s crying too. Chris gently plucks the speaker out of Darren’s hand, and lifts the laptop to set it on the coffee table. He turns back to Darren to thread their hands back together, and to rest his forehead on Darren’s.

 

 _Thank you,_ he whispers into the thick silence, the echo of the saxophone still ringing in Chris’ ears.  

 

 _It’s all for you, Chris,_ Darren says back. _You’re in every word._

  
  
  


_(On the day that the dance is over_

_I will be your song.)_


End file.
